At Beacon, Jo O’Connor’s last-minute nomination for prom queen had resulted in a last-minute location change for the prom itself. Rather than the usual hotel ballroom, prom would now be held in the campus gym. The consensus among the student body in general was that holding the event in surroundings with which she was familiar would make Jo’s ghost more comfortable.
If she was comfortable, she was more likely to show.
In honor of the event, the decoration committee had gone fifties retro. It was a great idea, I had to admit. I might even have looked forward to attending, if I hadn’t been quite so certain I was going to have an altogether miserable time.
I couldn’t even consider the possibility of Jo’s ghost appearing at the prom now that Mark London was attending, no matter how much I wanted to take him down a notch. I never should have let him goad me into helping him attend in the first place.
It was too late for regrets now.
By the time the Saturday of prom actually rolled around, I told myself I was resigned to my only course of action. Claire Calloway would attend the prom. The ghost of Jo O’Connor would not. Not even if she was elected prom queen. It wouldn’t allay Mark’s suspicions, but I told myself I could live with that.
Live with that. Ha ha. Very funny.
Prom would mark the end of my stint as a Beacon student. As of Friday afternoon, the journalism exchange would officially be over. Bright and early Monday morning, I’d return to being a full-time student at Royer. The whole Jo O’Connor ghost thing would simply die down. Things would go back to being as normal as they could be. Dad and I would continue to wait for the trial. With luck, it would be over by the time graduation rolled around so Dad could attend.
Life was going to be downright boring now that I thought about it. All I had to do was to make it through the prom.
Getting there in the first place required me to come as close as I’d ever come to telling my father an outright lie, an aspect of the situation I didn’t care for much at all. Maybe that seems weird or goody-two-shoes to you.
Tough.
I love my father. He’s been the only family I have for just about as long as I can remember, and we’ve always gotten along. His face lit up when I told him I was going to spend the evening hanging with a friend, and I struggled not to feel like a traitor.
“So this new school thing hasn’t turned out so badly, I guess,” my father commented.
I swallowed past the enormous lump that was suddenly filling my throat from side to side.
“It’s okay,” I answered. “The other kids are pretty nice.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Jo-Jo.”
“Any word yet on the trial?” I asked.
My father’s face reassumed the serious expression I’d seen on it all too often in the last couple of weeks.
“Stan—Detective Mortensen—says he thinks next week. I won’t be called right away, of course.”
“Bet you’ll be glad when it’s all over.”
“I will be,” my father said softly. He gazed at nothing for a moment, a frown furrowing down between his eyebrows. “Jo.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” my father said. “Have a good time. Don’t stay out too late.”
“I will,” I said. “And I won’t.”
I was rewarded when my father smiled. “How’s midnight sound?” he asked.
“Peachy,” I answered.
I longed for a pair of glass slippers all the way across town.
I wished for them even more when I stepped into the Beacon gym on prom night. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, of the somewhat fractured variety.
Enormous pieces of butcher paper completely covered the gym walls. On them, senior art students had created a combination of Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted forest and a walk down memory lane. Blown up pictures of prom queens and kings from years past were surrounded by drawings of a garden decorated with enormous tissue paper flowers.
The white icicle lights you see on every other house at Christmastime dangled down from the ceiling, interspersed with tiny brightly colored streamers made of shiny Mylar. Everywhere your eye turned, something twinkled or gleamed. A mirror ball hung down from the very center of the gym ceiling, ready to spin at a moment’s notice.
Even the area reserved for the taking of the requisite souvenir photograph continued the theme. Students could pose in front of a rose-entwined bower. I recognized it as a piece of scenery from a school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Those who wanted something a little more unusual could poke their faces through a life-sized cut out of a prom king and queen, or pull period costume pieces from a dress-up box. Plainly the prom committee had taken full advantage of the fact that Mr. Barnes was this year’s faculty advisor, a position that also made him head chaperone.
It was a prom no student in attendance was going to forget, even if Jo O’Connor’s ghost did turn out to be a no-show.
After much discussion, I’d gotten Alex and Elaine to agree to let me meet them at the gym after Alex picked Elaine up at her house. Much as Elaine and I had dreamed of getting ready for our senior prom together, we’d decided I simply couldn’t risk trying to pull off my Claire Calloway masquerade in front of her mom.
Believe it or not, I ended up changing clothes in the fancy bathroom of a downtown department store. A thing which might have been incredibly depressing were it not for the fact that everyone who came into the bathroom while I was doing my final primp got so psyched about it. By the time I actually arrived at the gym, I was feeling pretty good. Okay, so it wasn’t the prom I’d dreamed of. But, speaking as someone who was supposed to be dead and therefore unable to attend at all, let me just say it was a whole lot better than nothing.
“You look great, Claire,” Alex said as soon as he saw me.
He bounced up from the table where he and Elaine were sitting. In the dimmed light of the gym I could see several clumps of tables and chairs arranged around the periphery of the dance floor. On a dais at one end the band made various tuning up sounds.
“Thanks,” I said. “Okay if I leave my stuff here?”
“Sure,” Elaine said. She gave me a slightly strained smile. Elaine’s dress was this beautiful peach color that sort of made her glow all over. It had a tight bodice and a long, floaty skirt. Actually, she was the one who looked as if she ought to be wearing the pair of glass slippers.
“You look fabulous, Elaine,” I said as I slid my dressy shoulder bag onto the back of the one of the chairs and the canvas tote with my street clothes under the table.
“Sorry about the bigness,” I said as casually as I could. “Reporter stuff. I’m here to work, after all.”
“I like your dress too,” Elaine put in.
In keeping with Claire Calloway’s sense of fashion, I’d gone for basic black. Of course. Form fitting with a handkerchief hem that swirled around my calves. Tiny black beads decorated it at random, catching the light as I walked.
I’d piled Claire’s hair up on top of my head. It was held in place by clips decorated with tiny chips of this really cool stone called marcasite. Like the beads on the dress, they sparkled in the light.
I’d gone easy on the makeup. A little soft color on my lips. Some smoky eyeliner and shadow to bring out my eyes. That effort was somewhat wasted behind the glasses. But I was pretty pleased with my look as a whole. Simple and sophisticated. That was Claire Calloway’s choice for the prom. Actually I was kind of starting to like Claire’s fashion sense. Maybe I’d keep some of it around when I went back to being Jo O’Connor.
“And then of course there’s Alex,” I said, determined to lighten things up. If things got much more tense between Alex and Elaine, they’d need therapy before graduation. “I’m impressed. You wore a tux.”
Alex’s grin flashed across his face. “I like to think of myself as a trendsetter,” he said modestly.
I let my gaze wander obviously around the room as if taking in the attire of the
other guys.
“It seems to be working,” I commented. “I think I see one or two more.”
Alex laughed, and Elaine shot me a grateful smile. The band finished tuning, announced themselves, then launched into their first number. The crowd around us gave a spontaneous whoop of excitement. From all sides of the gym, students streamed out onto the dance floor. A sudden look of confusion crossed Alex’s face.
“You guys go for it,” I said quickly. “I’m just going to take a minute to review my plan of attack for the evening.”
“Oh, but . . . ,” Alex stuttered.
“It’s all right,” Elaine said. “Really, you two can go.”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly, doing my very best imitation of Elaine’s mother speaking to her younger brother, Dennis. “It’s your prom.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Alex said.
“Sure I’m sure. Though if you make me say one more thing like that, I’ll make you sound really stupid when I do my write-up.”
Alex pulled Elaine to her feet. Together they moved off onto the dance floor. I watched the crowd part, then flow back around them.
“That was an incredibly nice thing you just did,” a voice said.
I turned, unsurprised to discover Mark London. When I hadn’t spotted him upon arriving at the gym, I’d briefly allowed my hopes to rise. Maybe he’d been bluffing, to see what I’d do. Maybe he wouldn’t show up after all. Naturally I should have known better. But somehow, I wasn’t nearly as distressed to see him as I’d thought I might be.
“I can be nice,” I replied lightly, “as somebody else once said, if I recall.”
Mark smiled at the memory of our first car trip together, then sat down at the table beside me, scooting his chair next to mine so that we could both watch the dancers gyrating on the dance floor.
“Why do you think what I did is nice?” I asked after a moment.
“Because you made it easy for him,” Mark said.
“Easy for him to do what?”
He looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown an extra head. “For somebody so smart, you’re not very observant, Calloway. It’s obvious he’s totally in love with her.”
I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.
“You mean she’s in love with him,” I corrected. “That’s the thing that’s obvious.”
“Okay,” Mark said agreeably. “If you say so. But watch the way he looks at her. You’ll see what I mean.”
I leaned forward, my eyes on Alex. The band was playing a fast number. As I watched, he captured one of Elaine’s hands, refusing to let go as they boogied in time to the music. He tugged her a little closer to him, ducking his head close to hers to say something. It reminded me of when they’d played Romeo and Juliet and he’d stolen Romeo’s first kiss. The intent expression on his face was just the same.
Oh. My. God, I thought as I suddenly remembered the strange look that had crossed his face following our one and only kiss. That was the moment he’d realized the truth, I thought.
Not Jo, so new and different. But Elaine, whom he’d known forever. She was the one Alex really wanted. A thing he’d discovered not when he’d kissed her, but when our lips had met but hadn’t sparked.
He’s never going to tell her.
I have no idea where that thought came from, but the minute it popped into my head, I knew I was right. In the normal course of events, Alex would have found a way. But Jo O’Connor’s sudden death had put things so far off course that there was no hope of them ever getting back to normal.
Alex knew he loved Elaine. Elaine knew that she loved Alex.
But the only person who knew the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was the person who stood between them, dead or alive: Josephine Claire Calloway O’Connor.
What am I going to do? I thought.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Mark observed.
“I was just wondering,” I said. “Wondering if he’ll ever tell her.”
Mark cocked his head to one side, his eyes on Elaine and Alex. “I doubt it,” he said after a moment. “Crawford strikes me as the true-blue type. Now that Jo O’Connor’s dead . . . ” He let his voice trail off.
“Pretty much what I was thinking,” I said.
“Of course,” Mark said promptly, “if he knew that Jo was still alive . . . ”
“You never give up, do you?” I asked.
He gave me his devil’s grin. “Nope. So whaddaya think, Calloway? Do I get that dance?”
“Let’s see the cummerbund.”
His expression blandly agreeable, Mark stood up. I laughed before I could help myself.
Mark’s cummerbund was black with hot pink polka dots.
“I believe I specified plaid,” I said.
“Give me a break here, will you Calloway? I got the ugliest one I could find.”
“You definitely did do that,” I said. I looked up, meeting his eyes. “One dance,” I said. “We’re supposed to be working, you know.”
“One dance,” he agreed as the first dance ended and the crowd applauded.
He held out a hand. I took it and let him ease me out onto the dance floor. The band settled into its first slow number and Mark London pulled me slowly but surely into his arms.
Dancing with Mark was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It’s hard to explain. The best I can do is to say that it was sort of like holding a live wire in my arms.
I could feel his body pressed along the length of mine. Leaner, stronger than I had thought. Feel a current of energy connecting us together. Touching Alex had made me tingle. But I’d never felt anything like this before. All my senses heightened, as if I’d suddenly become some kind of superhero with extraspecial powers.
This is what was missing before with Alex, I thought. With Alex, I’d felt attracted. With Mark, I felt alive. I could feel where each and every one of his fingers held me to him, pressed along the length of my spine. Feel his breath against my neck, his head bent to my shoulder.
Then, without warning, he lifted his head. With one hand, he tilted my chin up. In the flickering sparkle of the mirror ball overhead, I could see myself reflected in his eyes.
Except it isn’t me, I thought. Jo O’Connor might be dreaming suddenly astonished romantic dreams. But Mark London believed he was holding Claire Calloway in his arms.
He wanted to kiss me. Was going to kiss me. I could see the desire, the intent, plain as day even in the gym’s dim light.
I can’t let him do it, I thought. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please, just don’t.”
At that moment, the music ended. Not looking at me, Mark released me and stepped back as we both joined in the applause.
Twenty-four
After that I really did start to feel like Cinderella at the ball. All around me, people were having fun. But there was simply no way I could settle down and enjoy myself. Instead, like the ticking of a clock, one phrase repeated over and over inside my head:
The end is coming. The end is coming.
Sooner or later, the results of the prom queen and king elections would be announced, and the packed-to-capacity gym would get the answer to the question burning in the mind of each and every student present.
If Jo O’Connor was elected, would her ghost show up to wear the crown?
As the minutes clicked closer to eleven o’clock, the hour the results were due to be announced, I could feel the level of anticipation rise. Even Mark seemed caught up in the overall excitement, but that could have just been because he was waiting to be proved right. Jo O’Connor’s ghost and Claire Calloway couldn’t be in the same place at the same time.
They couldn’t. I knew they couldn’t. It was crazy to even consider such a possibility, let alone try to make it happen. But the longer I watched Alex and Elaine together, the more certain I became.
The only way they’d ever find happiness was if Jo’s ghost made things righ
t.
“You can’t go with me,” I said.
“Give it up, Calloway,” Mark responded. “It’s ten forty-five. I’m sticking to you like glue for at least the next twenty minutes.”
“Fine,” I said. “I hope you find the girls’ bathroom an edifying experience. I think I’ll just let you explain your presence to the chaperones.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Mark said. He studied me for a moment as if trying to read my mind and figure out if I was up to something. Which, of course, I was. “Okay, but I’m waiting for you right over there.” He pointed to a vantage point which had the entrance to the bathroom in plain view.
“Suit yourself,” I said. “Take a few pictures of people going in and out while you’re at it. I’m sure no one will mind.”
Mark rolled his eyes and pointed. “What about over there?” he asked. This spot was slightly better as far as I was concerned, a clump of tables not far from the band. The bathroom entrance would be partially obscured by the band platform.
“Fine,” I said. “See you in a few.” Purposefully I walked toward the girls’ bathroom.
So far, so good, I thought. Now what am I going to do?
Two seconds later the answer literally came right at me in the form of Khandi Kayne. I’d never been so glad to see someone in my whole life, which, you may consider a true measure of my current desperation.
“Khandi,” I said as I seized her by the arm. “You look fabulous! I’m so glad I ran into you. Remember that picture we were talking about the other day?”
Not giving her a chance to get a word in edgewise, I turned and pointed to Mark, who was staring at me with what I was pretty sure were narrowed eyes. I smiled and waved. After a moment, Mark lifted a hand.
“See that guy who’s waving?” I asked. “He’s the photographer for the paper. Tell him I said I wanted some shots of you. Let’s see—maybe over there.”
I pointed again, this time to a particularly large display of the paper flowers that festooned the walls. In a location which would require Mark to turn his back on the bathroom entrance in order to take the shots I was asking for.
How Not to Spend Your Senior Year Page 13